Dancing
by RefinedOrderlySincereElegant
Summary: [This never would have happened if I hadn’t danced with him. What possessed me? And a slow dance nonetheless, a slow dance!] Hermione is thinking about somethings and Ron and her have a talk. RonHermione ONESHOT


**Disclaimer: **

**JK Rowling wrote the books,**

**To which we have all been hooked.**

**JK Rowling is not me,**

**I am no celebrity,**

**I do not own the Potterverse,**

**Curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse!**

**AN: Wow. I just found this, I wrote it ages** **ago. It wasn't long after I finished HPB, I think. I remember sitting down in the morning and starting to write, writing pretty much all day taking breaks for food and stuff, finishing it, editing it some, and saving it. And I haven't thought about it since. It's a little different then what I usually write…it actually goes kind-of deep at times…it's one of those stories that I wish I could put in six different genres. Romance/Angst/Humor (yes, both of them)/Spiritual (just a little, and I really don't know where it came from)/Drama (yeah, rereading this Hermione was being a bit of a drama queen, but, whatever)/General (just incase I'm missing some genre.) Anyway, I'll stop talking about it and let you read the darn thing, now…

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I shouldn't have danced with him. This never would have happened if I hadn't danced with him. What possessed me? And a slow dance nonetheless, a _slow_ dance! A slow dance where we were both feeling extremely embarrassed and awkward and I put my head onto his chest, just so I didn't have to look at him anymore. That was my mistake, right there. If I _hadn't_ put my head onto his chest, the dance would have stayed awkward the whole way through and we would have jumped at the chance to sit down at the end of the song, and the only thing on my mind would be how embarrassed I was. But, of course, I _did_ put my head on his chest, and, after tensing briefly, he relaxed considerably, and suddenly the dance wasn't so awkward, and I forgot to be embarrassed and instead was thinking about how _nice_ this was and how _nice_ it felt and even how nice he _smelled_. He didn't have cologne on or anything, he just smelt clean, and there was that distinct Ron smell that I've never smelt anywhere else (except, admittedly, in the potions dungeon in the beginning of sixth year, in the Aromentia), it really was nice. And that's how I ended up where I am right now.

Sure, I may have ended up here at some point in the evening anyway. But, if I hadn't put my head on his chest, or even danced with him at all, I'd be sitting here on the couch thinking how cozy the fire is, instead of the things I'm thinking about. Because, it was just so nice, and I felt so incredibly safe in his arms, and after about eight or nine songs (I can only guess, as I really forgot entirely about the music during the dance, all I know is that a different song was playing when we stopped then when we started and it turned out we had been dancing almost an hour) the thought came into mind—from where, I haven't a clue, for my mind had been blissfully blank up until that point—that it would be nice if we could dance like that forever. And, of course, it ended not a moment later when the twins appeared out of no where (though, perhaps if I had been paying any attention to my surroundings I may have seen them coming) and began to tease us. I was able to slip away—I still don't know how—and come in here thinking, _that's that, then_. But, only accompanied by a crackle of the fire and a log breaking in half did the thought gain any significance. Because, once I saw that log break in half, I haven't been able to look away from the fire.

Because it's over. Bill and Fluer's wedding is over. Well, it wasn't when I first came in, but I knew if I had gone out there to sit the rest of it out I wouldn't be able to enjoy for a second. Because tomorrow we're going to Godric's Hollow. That's it. What may have very well been the last day of peace I'll ever have, was over. And not just because it was one in the morning, the wedding was over, the dance was over, my easy life was _over_.

I had certainly never thought of it as easy. What with trolls and three-headed dogs and the sorcerer's stone in first year, the chamber of secrets being opened and personally getting petrified in second year, Sirius Black the supposed killer on the loose and dementors and the fight with Ron in third year, Harry being the Triwizard Tournament and Rita Skeeter and the Yule Ball in fourth year, the ministry denying Voldemort's return and the trip to the ministry in fifth year and Ron dating Lavender Brown then getting poisoned and Dumbledore dying in sixth year I had always thought my life was pretty tough. But, it wasn't, because all those times I had long periods of time when things were _good_, when things were _easy_, now there won't be any of those kinds of things. We won't be going back to Hogwarts. There's not going to be any going back at all.

And suddenly, with that thought, every fiber of my being ached to be back in Ron's arms, swaying to the music. It wouldn't just have been nice to dance with him forever. It would have cloud nine, as apposed to this bottomless pit; a dream, as apposed to this nightmare; heaven, as apposed to this living hell. It occurred to me then that I'm not sure I can even go on. If I'm falling to pieces at the mere prospect of going on this mission, how am I going to face the mission itself? Suddenly, I didn't want to be back in Ron's arms, I _needed_ to be. I needed every thought to leave my mind; I needed the warmth of his embrace. Because, even though I was in front of the fire, I was as cold as I'd ever been. I was cold on the inside.

And, maybe I would be having similar thoughts to these even if I hadn't danced with Ron, but I wouldn't be quite so cold, quite so empty. Because I wouldn't know just how warm it was in Ron's arms or how full of happiness I can really be. It's pathetic in a way, that dancing with Ron has affected me so. It's not that I felt happy dancing with him, per se, I just felt...at peace, like nothing could hurt me. But that's over now, and things can easily hurt me, and just thinking about it all ready has.

Are those footsteps?

Someone's come down the stairs, and are no doubt only feet behind me now but I don't look away from the fire. Maybe, if I'm lucky, they won't come around and see me. I'm pretty sure that, curled up like this, hugging my knees, my head doesn't stick over the top of the couch. My hair might though, and not for the reason it usually sticks inches above my head, but because it's still in the bun I put it in for the wedding, just as I am still in my dress robes, though everyone else, undoubtedly, has changed and gone to bed.

Except, apparently, whoever it is whose coming up behind me...and coming around the couch, drat.

"Hermione?"

It's Ron. Of course it is. I say hi, but I don't look away from the fire.

"Can't sleep either?" Ron asks. "You haven't even changed."

"Yeah, well."

Real witty, I blame the fact that it is nearing two in the morning and I'm severely depressed. And the fact that it's Ron doesn't help.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"No."

Why did I say that?

"What's wrong?" he says.

What isn't? Really, is there anything left in this world that is _right_? If so, kindly point it out, because I seem to have missed it.

"Do you ever look at the fire and think that that's how you feel?" I ask.

"Er..." he said. "You mean...hot?"

"No," I say, and shake my head slightly, though my eye stay locked on the dancing flames. "I mean do you ever feel like you're the logs and life is burning you away?"

"Erm..."

"Like, life is constantly raging on, whether or not you need a break to cool down, and burning you away piece by piece until you crack?" I say. The question is, why did my _voice_ just crack? "And even then, it doesn't stop; it just keeps blazing on and on, making you crack again and again, until there's nothing left of you but ashes."

He's not saying anything. Does he think I'm insane?

"Not exactly," he says, after a minute. "I mean, I feel overwhelmed by it all sometimes, but there's always something good to look forward to, at the end of the bad."

"Not always."

Not now. Isn't he going on the Horcrux Hunt tomorrow, too? Doesn't he know we might not make it out alive? Doesn't he get it?

"Yes, always," he says.

"But what if you have to do something utterly horrible that will probably _kill _you?" I say. Now, not only is my voice cracking, it sounds close to hysterical.

"Then you have heaven to look forward too," he answers simply.

Who are you and what have you done with the real Ron?

"What if there is no heaven?" I say. I definitely sound hysterical now.

"There's a heaven," Ron says.

Oh, gee, that helps. I would say something, but with the direction my voice is going I'll probably end up crying, so I'm not going to even attempt it.

"Do you want to know what I think of when I look at fire?" Ron says.

I don't answer. He'll continue in a minute anyway.

"Well, on the outside is the light, constantly changing but always remaining in control, if only by a little bit," See, there he goes. "Then, under it all, is the darkness, changing slowly, because it never really changes at all. Darkness is the flaw in life. It kills and hurts and destroys, and doesn't progress to anything better. Lightness progresses though, and it gets more and more powerful as it defeats the darkness, bit by bit. Then, once the darkness is entirely obliterated, the light goes out. Because you can't have light without darkness, not in this world anyway."

"Is there really any point then, though?" I say, despite myself. I can tell I'll start to cry if I talk for much longer, but I keep going anyway, I can't very well stop now, after all. "If no matter what you do there's still going to be darkness, _what—is—the—point_?"

A single tear escapes my eye, but I don't think this could qualify as crying. It's the eye on the side opposite Ron, so hopefully he didn't notice.

"That _is_ the point," Ron says. His voice is awfully gentle; I'm thinking he did notice the tear. "No matter what you do, there is going to be darkness, but without darkness there can't be light. There are always going to be bad times, and bad things, but that's what makes the good moments so precious. If we didn't have to fight darkness, there would be nothing to fight for. With out evil, there would be no such thing as morals. With out dark, we'd have nothing to compare light too."

"I still don't see why such an excess of darkness is necessary," I say.

"It isn't," Ron says. "And eventually there won't be as much. Light _is_ winning, after all. Even if it doesn't always seem like it."

"So we have to deal with all the bad stuff and keep fighting, possibly sacrificing our lives in the process, so that later generations have it good?" Hermione said. "How is _that_ fair?"

I sound very hysterical. On the bright side, no more tears...yet.

"It's fair because at the end of it all, we'll be heaven, where there is no darkness," Ron says.

I don't know what to say to him. He's convinced that everything is going to be okay. What's _wrong_ with him?

"You don't know that," I say.

"I believe it, though," he says.

"I don't," I say.

It seems he doesn't have anything to say to that. It's strange, even though I wanted to be right, I kind of wanted him to have some sort of comeback, some piece of logic that would completely convince me and make everything better. Well, Ron's only mortal. More so then most of us, it often seems.

"Light _is_ winning, Hermione," Ron says.

"But we're loosing," I say.

Funny how I keep knocking him down when I desperately want him to be right.

"I don't think so," Ron says.

"Oh, you don't?" I say.

"No, I don't," he says. "We're doing this to make the world the world a better place, aren't we? We're doing this to help the _light_ side. We're not doing this to make ourselves happy or comfortable, that's what the other side is doing. We're doing this to make other good people happy and comfortable, and, even if we feel horrible, we're doing the right thing, and that's going to be enough to make all this bearable."

"What if it _isn't_ enough?" I say. I sound hysterical, and two tears have escaped eyes. I don't really care anymore, somehow. "What if we all go insane with the pressure? What if we _die_?"

"Then we'll go to heaven," he says.

"I don't believe in heaven," I say.

That's not strictly true. I go through phases of believing in heaven and phases when I don't, mostly I'm not sure but I hope there is. I really do. But I've always had trouble believing in things I have no proof of.

"Well, I'm sorry," Ron says. "I do believe in heaven, but I can't force you to believe everything I believe. What I do know is that telling myself I was doing the right thing is what made me sacrifice myself in that giant chess match in first year, and it'll get me through anything we'll have to do in the future. As long as I'm doing the right thing, I have something to hold on to."

"Well, I'm not you!" I shout. Before, when I said I sounded hysterical, I didn't know what hysterical _was_. Now I sound like a mad woman. I sound like a _pregnant_ mad woman.

And now he's quiet again. Great.

"Hermione," he says. He sounds tired. Am I that difficult? "All I know is this. You need the bad things to have good things. There are more good things then bad things. Doing good things is enough, for me, anyway. I'm sorry if it doesn't work for you."

"It doesn't seem fair, though," I say in a very quiet voice.

Now I'm crying. I'm not sobbing or bawling, or anything, but I'm gasping and sniffling and tears are falling freely down my cheeks. I still haven't looked away from the fire, though.

"Yes, but, without bad things—"

"I know!" I say, and not in a very quiet voice. "Without bad things there wouldn't be good things, but it's _not fair_. It shouldn't be that way! There should only be good things and better things!"

"If there were only good things and better things that good things would _become_ the bad things," Ron says.

He sounds slightly exasperated, but patient at the same time. If such a thing is even possible. If not, leave it to Ron Weasley to pull it off.

"They wouldn't be bad," I say. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder why I'm arguing when I know he is right. Somewhere else in the back of my mind I think that knowing he is right is probably why I'm not crying so much now. "Things that are really and truly good couldn't be bad, even if they were as bad as things got."

"Yes, but they wouldn't be as good as the better things so even if they weren't bad, per se, but they would be...disappointing," Ron says.

"Then things should always be good," I say.

"Then things would never change," he says.

"Things don't need to change, if they're always good," I say.

"It wouldn't be good anymore," he says.

"Yes, it would," I say.

"No, eventually any good thing wouldn't be as good any more," he says.

"Some things would never stop being good," I say. "There are things I could do forever, and they'd still be good."

"Like what?" he says.

I can tell by his tone he thinks I won't be able to think of anything, but I'm all ready thinking of something.

"Dancing with you," I say.

I hadn't meant to say it, though. I can feel myself blush and am now looking intently at the fire, though I was never looking away.

He's quiet again, but this time the silence is tense and awkward. I'm sure I've ruined everything.

"H-Hermione..." he says. "We can't dance forever...but we can dance now."

Suddenly he's standing next to me, his hand extended. I look away from the fire for the first time, up at his face. He's looking down slightly nervously at me; the tips of his ears are red. He's in his pajamas. If I'd looked at him before I'd know this all ready, though I suppose I should have guessed. My eyes travel from his clothes back to his face, and lock with his. I take his hand and he leads me slowly to the center of the floor, our eyes still locked. He pulls me to him, and I put my head on his chest. We begin to sway back and forth. There's no music, of course, but we don't need any, the crackling fire is enough.

The Ron smell is stronger in his pajamas then his dress robes, I notice. This is probably because he sleeps in them every night, whereas I'm sure this today the first time he had worn the dress robes Fred and George bought them. He doesn't smell as clean either—not that he smells dirty, or anything—and I wonder if the dress robes were really what smelled clean, but I like the Ron smell better then the clean smell, anyway. I can hear his heart beat; it was fast when I first put my head on his chest, but it's slowing down a bit now. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I'm amazed at how well they fit together that way. I think my bun is tickling his cheek, but he doesn't seem to mind. Everything is perfect.

But now I've just gotten a view of the fire, and, wouldn't you know it, right as a log snaps in half, and now the reason why I was sad, all my worries and doubts and fears, come rushing back.

I break away from him and look at my feet, my arms folded over my chest. Tears are clouding my vision; I try to blink them back to no avail.

"Hermione?" Ron says. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Ron...this-this doesn't change anything," I say. "We'll still be leaving tomorrow to look for Horcruxes...we'll still be facing danger and peril...we could still die. We-we can't dance forever. You said it yourself."

He comes over and puts one hand on my arm, then uses the other to tilt my chin up to look at him.

"But we can dance _now_," he says. "Tomorrow we'll leave to look for Horcruxes, and we can dance along the way, if we make it back in good enough shape, we can dance, and if we still see each other ten or twenty or fifty years after this over, we can dance then. If-if either of us does die, then we can dance in heaven, even if we have to wait a little while for the other to come along."

"Oh, there you go with your talk of heaven again!" I say. I sound hysterical again, and tears are flowing in a waterfall down my cheeks, but I don't care. "What if there _isn't_ a heaven, Ron?"

"Then we'll dance in hell, purgatory, limbo, in our next life, what ever the hell happens, Hermione, I'll do whatever it takes to be able to dance with you," he says, his blue eyes blazing.

"But what if you die and I stay alive?" I cry. "I can't live with out you, Ron! I won't be able to make it if you're not there to talk with me and fight with me and laugh with me and cry with me and play chess with me and-and..." I let out a sob, and say in a much quieter and broken sounding voice, "...dance with me."

He pulls me roughly to him and holds me tightly, and I bury my face into crook in his neck.

"I'm here now," he says. "I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. I never will leave you if I can help it, Hermione, I swear...and I won't let you leave me without a fight...but if I do die...I want you to keep going, Hermione...It'll probably be hard at first, and it will hurt for a while...but, I want you to be happy...I want you to keep going...I want you to do the things you love, and never feel guilty for it...know, whether I'm dead or alive, I want you to be happy Hermione...always...I-I love...I love...I love it when you're happy."

"I won't be able to be happy without you," I say, in that same broken sounding voice.

"Yes you will," he says. "Not at first...maybe not for a while...but then, one day, you may see something that makes you smile, if only for a second...or hear something that makes you laugh...you may read a book that you love...and, little by little, piece by piece, your life will fall back into place...and you'll be happy again...and you'll meet other friends...and maybe even a guy..." he swallows at this part, and I hear it in his throat, "...and he'll fall in love with you, being the amazing witch that you are...and you may marry him and have kids—"

"_No_," I say, pretty firmly considering my voice sounded so broken moments ago, "no, no, no, no! Only you, only with you, not with anyone but you!"

Only after I say this do I remember that he's not exactly supposed to know I want to marry him and have kids with him, nor has he ever said he wants to marry me and have kids with me.

He pulls back, and lifts my chin to face him again, I try to look away but it's impossible and I suddenly find myself drowning in the depths of his blue eyes that seem to be searching mine, which, I think with a terrible jolt, probably look horrible and blood shot.

Then his lips are on mine and that thought, along with all others, disappears from my mind. I'm only vaguely aware when he deepens the kiss, or when he takes (claws) my hair out of its bun and runs his fingers through it, or when the deepens further, or when the couch suddenly under me and Ron is on top, or when the kiss deepens even further...I'm acutely aware of the loss of his lips moving against mine, but don't mind so much when I feel them on my neck. I'm also aware when all kissing stops and he lifts his face a few inches above my own. My first thought as thoughts return to me is, _why on earth has he stopped_? My next thought is that kissing Ron is a lot dancing with him, the world fades out and thoughts disperse, but then it ends and the thoughts seem to weigh on you ten times heavier then before. And it always ends.

Suddenly my eyes are filed to the brim with tears again but I don't try to stop them. Ron takes my face in his hands, and wipes away the tears with his thumbs.

"H-Hermione..." he says. "I want to be the lucky guy who gets to marry you...and have children with you...and I'll do whatever I can so that it can be that way...but if I die...and you meet someone else who makes you happy...that's all I want...I want you to be with someone who makes you happy...if I live and I make you happy, that's wonderful...but if I don't and some other bloke makes you happy, I don't want you to waste the chance...I want you to get to have a family...I want you to have the life you always wanted...more than anything, I want you to do what will make you happy, with whoever will make you happy...I love you."

I let out a sob. "I love you, too," I say. "Oh, but, Ron, no one else will ever make me as happy as you could."

"Maybe, maybe not..." he says. "But if you find someone that makes you happy _enough_, don't let him pass you by because of me."

"But he'll always be a poor substitute for you," I say.

"But he'll get the job done," he says and kisses me softly.

"I still wish we could dance forever..." I murmur against his lips.

He starts to pull back and I whimper in protest. He hesitates, but pulls back resolutely. He looks into my eyes.

"We'll dance," he promises me. "We'll dance when we can, and it'll be a thousand times more special."

"How?" I say. "How could it possibly be more special?"

"Because it will be an escape," he says. "A break from all the hard things to come. And when we face those hard things we'll remember that when it's all over we'll get to dance. It'll be something to fight for...and something to savor when it finally comes. If we were to dance forever, it would probably never stop being nice...but it would be a guarantee, a constant...it would stop being something special."

"But doesn't that mean that if there is a heaven, as you say, it would also stop being special after a while?" I ask.

"I think it'll be different in heaven," he says. "If we were to dance for ever it would be like a way _out_ of life, where as dying is life being torn from you. I think that's kind-of what dying and going to heaven is about. The universe tearing everything you have away from you, then giving you everything you could ever want. If we were to dance forever it would sort of be like cheating, like leaving life hanging to do something we enjoy and never completing what we started. If we stick it out to the end, though, then when we get to heaven there will be no loose ends to tie up."

"What if we have unfinished business on earth?" she said.

"Well, we'd probably come back as a ghost or something," he said. "But if we spend our lives, from here on out, doing the right thing and fighting for what we believe in, I don't think that will leave any unfinished business. If we die for what we believe in…well, we can rest peacefully in heaven knowing that we gave everything we had for what we believed in."

"What makes you so sure there's a heaven?" she asked.

"Well, I wasn't always," he said. "To be honest, it was really Dumbledore's death that really drove it home. I mean, how can someone who gave so much, who was so powerful, who just had so much life and presence, just be _gone_? No, there has to be somewhere people go when they die. There has to be a heaven, and there, Hermione, we can dance forever and it will always be special, because we'll have done everything we could and given everything we had. We'll have earned it."

"How is it you suddenly know exactly what to say?" I ask.

"Oh, I guarantee you, I'm still as clueless as I've ever been," he says, and I laugh through my tears. "This is just something I've thought a lot about, is all." He leans down and kisses me softly. "We should probably go to bed, though—to our own beds, I mean—" he's blushing now, "we have a big day ahead of us." I immediately become tense. Noticing this he continues, "But when times get bad...we can always dance. Or kiss, I have no problems with kissing."

I laugh again. "No, I don't think so," I say. His face falls. "I want to dance—and kiss—when times are good _and_ bad."

He smiles and nods, then leans down and kisses me deeply. Then he stands up and extends his hand.

"One last dance before bed?" he says.

I smile and take his hand. A log cracks in the fire and I smile more. Light's winning, but I didn't need to look at the fire to know that.

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**AN: Well, the last line's a bit iffy. Ron was OOC, but even he couldn't be all goofy when it came to stuff like DD's death and them facing their potential doom and his undying love for Hermione and all. And there were some pretty long sentences that were bordering on run-on…I'm not going to go on a rant of everything that's wrong with it. However if YOU want to go on a rant of everything that's wrong with it, be my guest. Though praise would also be nice, while we're on the subject. Feedback of any sort is welcome, even just a number between 1 and 10. Review, please!**

**Thank you.**


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